


Gigil

by WritingQuill



Series: Meanings [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adorable, Cold Weather, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Seriously though so much fluff, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, basically fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-31
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-12-07 02:06:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/742901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingQuill/pseuds/WritingQuill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gigil (Filipino): urge to pinch or squeeze something that is unbearably cute</p><p>It's a cold April day, and John looks so utterly warm, Sherlock can't help but wrap himself around him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gigil

**Author's Note:**

> I know I've been idle, but here's a lot of fluffy feelings to warm this long-lasting winter/spring's day.

**Gigil** (Filipino): _urge to pinch or squeeze something that is unbearably cute_

***

 

It was an unusually cold April day. Normally by this time of the year, the temperatures would already have risen a bit, but today they were as low as winter. 221b was incredibly cold and Mrs Hudson wouldn’t stop apologising for it, seeing as she had turned down the heat for Spring. John would have none of it, just brushed her off with one of those boyish smiles of his and settled on the sofa, a cup of tea in hand and two warm socks on each foot. 

Sherlock himself was undisturbed by the cold. He had taught himself to ignore it when focused on something important, and this particular experiment with nail polish and larvae was at a crucial point. 

Around five in the afternoon, it was time to let the compound in the freezer for two hours to let it set, so Sherlock had a break and finally felt the cold. The hairs on his nape stood as he shivered and rubbed his hands together to warm them up. The telly was on, so John was likely to be all the source of warm Sherlock needed at the moment. He could even picture it — his ex-army doctor clad in one of those hideous, warm woollen jumpers of his, wearing warm socks and covered in an old quilt, clutching a steaming cuppa between his steady hands. Just the thought alone was enough to warm Sherlock’s insides as he made his way to the sitting room. 

He stopped abruptly at the kitchen door when he saw John. 

John was sitting on the sofa, much like Sherlock had pictured it, and still so very different. His eyes were half-closed, breathing heavy, short hair pointing at every direction, clearly almost falling asleep. He yawned deeply, one of his hands scratching his left eye lazily and then scratching the stubble he couldn’t be bothered shaving that morning. “It’s Saturday,” he had said, “I’m not going out anyway, why bother?” His legs were probably pulled to his chest under the old quilt he had inherited from his Gran, and Sherlock could practically feel the soft texture of John’s most warmest socks, the ones Sherlock himself had given him two years ago, made of a mixture of cotton and wool, adorned with cartoon bees because John liked funny socks. 

Sherlock had to put his hands into the pockets of his dressing gown before they went out of his control and grabbed the sleepy doctor. He wanted to smother John with kisses and hugs right now, which was rather odd because he never felt that. It was a peculiar combination of feeling cold and John looking so impossibly warm, combined with missing John after spending the whole day apart. Even though John had been on the sofa and Sherlock in the kitchen, it was still ways away, especially inside the Mind Palace. 

Another yawn from the sofa woke Sherlock from the reverie, and he noticed that he was already halfway across the room towards John, who still seemed to be far far away, drifting into dreamland. With a chuckle, Sherlock closed the distance and lowered himself to sit beside John, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. 

‘Hey,’ greeted sleepy John, voice hoarse from sleep and eyes still half-lidded. He had never looked more adorable — which was something indeed, because Sherlock always thought John looked adorable. 

‘Hi,’ Sherlock said, giving his partner a small smile. John scooted closer and raised the quilt so Sherlock could fit under it. Sherlock climbed under the blanket and draped himself across John’s middle. 

‘Jesus, you’re freezing!’ John chuckled, rubbing his hands along Sherlock’s arms to make him warm. ‘I told you to wear a jumper or something.’ 

‘I’m wearing socks!’ Sherlock protested, wriggling his toes, and John chuckled again. Sherlock buried his face in John’s neck and breathed him in. Then he squeezed John tightly, getting a small yelp from him. 

‘What’s all this for?’ 

‘You’re warm,’ Sherlock stated, simply, then continued to make himself warm up against John. 

For the rest of the night, the pair of them just stayed there, snuggled up around each other under the quilt, feeling warm and fuzzy. They fell asleep around seven o’clock, and when Mrs Hudson went up to apologise yet again for the lack to heat, she realise that there really was no reason to apologise at all.


End file.
